


One

by wynnebat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Gen, Horcrux Hunting, Possession, Under the Influence of Horcruxes, pre-slash if you're wearing slash goggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 17:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnebat/pseuds/wynnebat
Summary: The locket horcrux learns from the diary's mistakes.





	One

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by anonymous.

Hermione is the first to put it on. “It’s always cold, no matter how long it’s been against my neck.” Even with a turtleneck and a woolen sweatshirt, she shivers as she completed her first night on necklace rotation.

Ron is the opposite. He curses loudly as he puts it on, yelling about being burned even though there’s no sign of the locket’s effects on his skin. Hermione casts a cooling spell on his neck to counteract the locket’s heat, but Ron doesn’t have a very good night.

The next day, Harry thinks he's prepared for what the locket will do. If Hermione and Ron can put up with its temperature changes and mood swings, then so can Harry. Especially since this is Harry's burden to carry, not either of theirs. It's Harry who's been tasked with defeating Voldemort, Harry who can't falter under the weight of the prophecy, Harry who takes the locket from Ron's hand. The locket is neither cold nor warm, and feels the perfect temperature against Harry's skin.

"That doesn't sound very good," Hermione says when he says so. She gives the locket an uncertain look. "Are you sure? Ron and I could handle wearing it ourselves."

"I'm sure," Harry immediately says. He's not about to pass off his burden. He slips the chain around his neck and allows the locket to hang down against his robes. When nothing immediately happens, Harry relaxes, increment by increment. It's alright. He's going to be alright. He and his friends will find a way to get their hands on something that can destroy the horcrux, then they'll deal with the rest of the horcruxes and Voldemort. This is just one necessary step toward getting rid of his mortal enemy once and for all. "See? I'm fine."

The locket is heavy against his chest, but that's nothing new. Ron and Hermione must already know the weight of the locket. They're stronger than him for having been able to deal with its weight; after only a few minutes, Harry sits down and reaches for one of Hermione's books. Had there been so little room between his neck and the locket? It feels like the chain had been longer.

"Harry," Hermione says, fear and caution coloring her voice. "Get that thing off of you, now!"

After years of friendship, listening to Hermione is second nature. Harry grabs the locket, but it doesn't budge. Instead, the distance rapidly decreases, the gold links of the chain growing smaller and smaller as Harry tries to disentangle himself from the horcrux. Ron's hands join his own in trying to get it off, while Hermione all but hits the chain with her wand as she casts spells. Nothing works, and Harry's panicking because holy fuck he's going to die, he's going to suffocate because he was enough of an idiot to put a horcrux around his neck, whose idea was this anyway—

Harry gasps for breath as the locket rests against his neck, its metal cool against his panic-heated skin. He pulls at it, but the only thing he manages is to accidentally release the locket. It's smaller now, matching the chain that's literally around his neck, and Harry nearly hyperventilates until he realizes that he isn't dying.

It's not choking him.

Not like it could be.

His hands shaky, Harry traces the chain around his neck. There isn't enough room to slip his fingers under it, but neither is it constricting his airflow. He's aware of its weight, and he shudders as he realizes how it looks like a collar around his neck, but it's not killing him. He meets Ron and Hermione's terrified gazes.

"Fuck," Ron breathes.

Hermione seems to be of the same mind, though she doesn't say the word. Both of them examine Harry's neck, but there isn't much they can do. They know little about horcruxes, just enough to know that they need to get the locket off of Harry's neck as soon as possible before it possesses him.

"It could be worse?" Ron offers when each spell of Hermione's fails to pry it off.

"Yeah, I'm glad I'm not dead, too," Harry says, glumly. But, well, "At least I'm not possessed. Probably. I don't feel possessed."

"Ginny hadn’t thought so either at first," Ron replies, handing Harry one of their precious few bottles of alcohol. It's for a good cause.

Drinking doesn't get him much beyond Hermione's disapproval and Ron falling asleep on top of him. Harry already felt woozy after the panic, and the booze leaves him feeling raw. Usually, he's a happy drunk, eager to make terrible decisions with his dormmates, but today Harry can't remember what good there is in this world. The darkest wizard of their time has a chain collar around his neck, complete with one of his ancestor's initials.

It's madness, all of this.

Harry falls asleep with his hand around the locket. Smaller now, it fits in his fist, the weight of it nearly too heavy for his neck. His dreams are less coherent than usual, all color and darkness and voices. Too many voices for one head to contain. Harry tells them to stop, but there's a softer voice that hushes his complaints. There's someone running their fingers through his hair, someone saying _we can be useful, I'll prove it to you._

Eyes closed, Harry slips out from his bed. Ron mumbles something, but Harry isn't paying attention. He's thirsty. He needs a drink of water. Despite the remaining alcohol in his system, he doesn't stumble. It feels like there's something holding him steady. Whatever it is, Harry appreciates it. He doesn't even feel like he's going to puke.

He just... needs some water.

It makes perfect sense to apparate instead of walking to the other end of the tent.

He spins, wand clenched tightly in his hand. Instead of focusing on inside the tent, his mind drifts off. When he lands, it's to grass beneath his bare feet and his eyes half open. It's a dream, it must be, because under the moonlight it is Voldemort who stands before him.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort hisses, a horrible smile on his thin lips. "Here at last."

"We are," Harry says in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://crownwithoutstones.tumblr.com/).


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